


Service

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 22:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Regis needs a new source of sustenance.





	Service

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s _wrong_ and he knows it. There’s nothing he can do to justify the cost. He didn’t raise Ignis himself, but he knew Ignis as a child, watched him grow up, is twice his age with half his strength. Ignis is young, vibrant, and clever—he deserves so much better than to be a lamb on his king’s altar.

But he’s also beautiful, and Regis is _weak_. He lets Ignis quietly follow him home, trail him after the council meeting, join him in the elevator and match his pace down the towering halls. They reach Regis’ private chambers, and he allows Ignis inside. 

He tries to protest. He really does. When Ignis starts unfastening his collar, already breathless and glassy-eyed, Regis turns away. Ignis hasn’t worn any cologne today—there’s nothing to smell but _him_: his raw skin. Regis catches a glimpse of Ignis in the polished surface of a framed painting. _Only_ Ignis. Regis has no reflection, because it’s been far too long since he last fed. He knows he’s growing feeble. Everyone at the meeting knew it. They were kind enough not to say it, but Clarus has been hounding him, and Regis knows that he can’t last much longer. Regis tries not to think of that. He lifts his hands over his eyes and tells himself it’s time to just fade away.

Then he hears Ignis murmur, “Please.” 

He glances over his shoulder. Ignis’ jacket hangs low down his arms, his delicate fingers holding his collar wide open. His chin tilts back, throat fully exposed. He begs, “_Please_, Your Majesty. I _want_ to do this for you.”

He always says that now. He has to. He must know that that’s Regis’ biggest reservation. It isn’t that he isn’t hungry, because he _is_—he’s _starving_—or that Ignis is any way unappealing. It’s that Ignis is entirely too good to him, and he loathes to take advantage. 

Ignis wets his lips. Regis knows that it isn’t nerves but anticipation. He’s too loyal. It serves his whole kingdom—Regis’ magic power is the same strength that upholds the barrier. But he knows that Ignis isn’t thinking of that: is just doing this for _him_.

He breaks, because Ignis has grown into such a handsome creature, and his blood is the sweetest drink that Regis has ever tasted.

Regis flies across the room. His arms lock around Ignis’ slender frame with slick efficiency—he trembles to be _fierce_, to pull Ignis tight against him, but he’s experienced enough to behave. He holds Ignis steady, firm but tender. He lets one hand rise to cradle the back of Ignis’ head, supporting it as it lolls back. Regis’ mouth opens wide across Ignis’ pale skin. It’s been so long that Regis no longer has breath to puff over it. His heart’s already stopped. This will let it beat again, at least until the thirst returns. 

He lets himself sink down into Ignis’ warm flesh. The first pierce of his fangs makes a sharp squelching noise, and then his lips are locked around the wound, and he knows his saliva’s dulling the pain. Ignis shudders, gasps, then _moans_. Regis cautiously applies a bit of suction, then slowly works into a feral gulp that leaves Ignis trembling in his arms. Regis is incredibly careful with how much he takes, and he savours every drop. Ignis is, as always, _delicious_.

He doesn’t protest, even when his voice cracks and his gasps become shallow rasping. Regis reaches the very edge of what Ignis can recover from, then stops sucking and swallows what he has left. He pulls out excruciatingly slow, and he licks the wound afterwards, feeling sick until it’s properly stitched back together. 

By the time that he withdraws, there’s nothing left. There’s no evidence of what happened, besides Ignis’ sallow complexion and the extreme dilation of his pupils. Regis watches him slowly regain himself, and then he asks the same thing that he always does: “May I stay, Your Majesty?”

He’ll never know how badly Regis wants to say _yes_. But that would be even worse than the sins Regis has already compiled. He hates the agony on Ignis’ face when he says, “No.” He tries to soften it with gratitude, because he appreciates Ignis so incredibly much. “But I thank you for this. You have always been a tremendous help to me, and I only turn you away now for your own good.”

Ignis is clearly still displeased. But he’s never had the will to defy his king. He breaks into a fluid bow, then rises again to suck in a breath. He leaves Regis’ quarters with his hand still tracing his throat. 

Regis is left alone, feeling, for the first time in months, _alive_.


End file.
